


Lifelines

by quake_quiver



Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 7 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring Dean Winchester, Comfort, Conversations About Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Scars, Self-Harming Sam Winchester, Somewhere in Season 1, please please tread carefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quake_quiver/pseuds/quake_quiver
Summary: He knows his baby brother’s body inside and out, backwards and forwards, and he’s never seen these scars before.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Ten Trails Challenge: Trail 7 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951189
Comments: 4
Kudos: 132





	Lifelines

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "scars." This fic deals very heavily with self-harm. Please do not read if this will trigger you, and please seek help if you need it. Take care of yourselves <3

Dean doesn’t notice them before Sam fucks him silly, or during. He’s too focused on being back with his baby brother for the first time in years. He notices them after, when Sam goes and gets them a washcloth to clean up with, and the lamplight catches his hips just right.

If Sam notices Dean’s eyes stuck on his hipbones as he climbs back onto the bed, he doesn’t show it. And he must not notice, because he sets about wiping the sticky cum off of Dean’s belly like nothing’s wrong.

But Dean’s stuck. He knows his baby brother’s body inside and out, backwards and forwards, and he’s never seen these scars before.

He supposes he shouldn’t expect Sam to be totally and completely the same; he did just spend four years in California, after all. But Dean can swallow Sam’s newfound confidence in the bedroom and how much longer his hair’s gotten a lot easier than he can these scars.

It’s not even like Sam got these on a hunt. They’re too even; too clean. These thin lines were made with a steady hand, not a claw or a wayward blade. And there’s so _many_ of them. All clustered over the jut of Sam’s hipbones, scattered down the v of his pelvis. Like they’re something to hide.

Sam still seems unconcerned. He’s cleaning himself off now, but he freezes when Dean’s fingertips brush against his right hip.

Dean doesn’t look up. The lines are tiny, but they’re just ridged enough that he can feel the difference in them under his fingertips.

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move, but Dean can feel his eyes on him. To his surprise, when he’s able to look away from those little white lines, Sam’s face is pale and his eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

Dean’s stomach sinks. The last thing he wants is to cause Sam any more pain than these scars already have, but he can’t leave this unaddressed.

“Sammy,” he says softly. “How’d you get these?”

Silence. Sam’s throat bobs as he swallows, and Dean watches the tears start to spill over and roll down his face.

Dean lets the quiet stay. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know that he wants Sam to confirm Dean’s fears.

“I forgot I had them,” Sam whispers, a note of apprehension in his voice. “I wouldn’t have…I would’ve made sure you couldn’t see them.”

Dean’s throat starts to feel raw. He brushes his thumb gently over Sam’s hip, and his heart splinters at how many scars meet his touch.

“Are they…” Dean swallows. The last thing he wants is for Sam to think he’s being blamed.

Then Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath, and drops his gaze to stare at the bedspread. A tear slips down his nose and falls onto the fabric. “They’re what you think,” he whispers.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “God, Sam…”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Sam pulls away from him, drops the washcloth into their laundry, pulls on boxers and pants. He ties them tight at his navel so they don’t slip, and the scars vanish. His face stays shiny with tears the whole time.

“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbles after a moment. He’s messing with their duffels, sorting things that don’t need to be sorted.

Dean’s chest _aches_. “Don’t…Sammy, you don’t have to apologize.”

Sam gives a jerky nod, but he doesn’t turn around or come back.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. He aches to take Sam’s pain away. To reverse time and fix whatever hurt his baby so badly that he felt he had to do this.

“Leaving was hard,” Sam offers, sorting their socks. His voice is so low Dean has to really focus to hear him. “Leaving you, starting Stanford…it was hard. Really hard. And I didn’t…I had to deal with it somehow.”

Sam’s shoulders jump with a sob. Dean can’t take it anymore. He stands from the bed and pads over to Sam, standing behind him and laying a hand on his brother’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Sam repeats. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Dean pulls Sam back against his chest. He hooks his chin over Sam’s shoulder. Sam shakes with a sob, but doesn’t move to turn around, like Dean aches for him to.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dean repeats. “I…I hate that you were in that much pain, but I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you, Sammy.”

“I am,” Sam whispers. “It was weak. And stupid. And I hate that I did it.”

Dean frowns, bending his head to press his face to the back of Sam’s shoulder. He’s about to say something when Sam speaks again.

“Sometimes I still want to,” he admits. “After…After Jess, and with the people we don’t save or the things that go wrong. I want to, so _badly_ , and I hate that, too.”

Dean can’t take it anymore. He pulls away, stepping around Sam and kicking their duffels back so that he’s in front of his brother and he can catch his eyes.

Sam refuses to look at him, but even with his eyes downcast Dean can read the pain in them. He reaches for Sam and pulls him in, and Sam crumples, burying his face into Dean’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Dean says, even though it really kind of isn’t. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”  
“Okay,” Sam whispers, tears wetting Dean’s neck. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Dean says gently. “That’s not what I’m looking for. I just want to help you keep from doing this anymore. I’m not mad. I’m not upset.”

Sam nods. Dean lifts a hand to bury it in Sam’s hair and turns his head to kiss Sam’s temple.

They’ll have a long road ahead of them, Dean knows. But he’ll do everything and anything he can to make it better.

“I love you,” Dean says. “A lot. You know that?”

“Love you too,” Sam whispers.

They’ll have to talk about this again, Dean knows. This is far from over for either of them. But for now, he holds Sam and lets him cry, and when they crawl into bed and Sam curls into his chest, Dean keeps his hands away from Sam’s hips and peppers his face with kisses, pulling him in tight.

It’s only a start, but for the moment, it’s enough.


End file.
